


Annis the Mage

by Ginger_kitty



Series: Annis [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Friendship/Love, Imprisonment, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicide, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-07 12:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20976029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger_kitty/pseuds/Ginger_kitty
Summary: A Circle Mage has no family, no home, no possessions; they belong to the Circle and the Chantry.  Their story begins not with family, friends or clan, but in a prison.  But Annis wasn't always a mage, she had a home, a family and a life before she was locked away at the age of 8 for saving her father's life.  Being banished from the Circle was a punishment, but it was also a blessing and the freedom to find her family again.





	1. Mia and Caro

It felt like everyone in the castle was standing in the courtyard, waiting and listening to the clatter of hooves over the drawbridge. The  Arlessa stood on the steps, still and calm and no one noticed the looks she shot at the two children standing at the bottom of the stairs, clinging to each other. Two thorns in her side but at least one of them would be dealt with by her unwanted visitors. Soon the girl would be out of her hair and she thought she knew how to get rid of the boy. When her husband returned, she would see to it.

The girl was tiny, the boy towering over her even though they had been born on the same day. His mother died and hers lived, so Giana suckled them both and called them her own. They had names but most in the castle called them Girl or Boy or, more usually, Trouble. Giana called them Mia and Caro, My Own and My Dear One in her native Antivan, so that was what they called each other. They had never been apart for even a day in their lives, and today they would be separated forever. They held onto each other, their own family standing a few steps away, as if afraid of what their daughter had become, while she sobbed and begged forgiveness, begging them to let her stay.

As Wynne rode under the portcullis, all she could hear was the wailing of the children. Everyone else was silent, watching the mage coming to collect one of their own. Except Mia was no longer theirs. She was cursed by the Maker, a mage, and belonged to the Circle of Magi. For their own protection she would be kept in the tower, guarded by Templars every day of her life, constantly watched for signs of blood magic or possession by men and women sworn to kill her at a  moments notice. Not for the first time, Wynne wondered if there was another way, if people like herself, like this child, could ever live normally without fear or hatred from those around them. She remembered being locked in a barn, terrified that the villagers would not bring the Templars but would stone her or burn her to death instead. The tower was a refuge as much as a prison for people like them, but she knew the girl would not see it that way for a very long time.

She was still clinging to Caro but her sobs had quieted, occasional shudders showing that exhaustion, rather than acceptance, had quieted her. Her face was burrowed into Caro’s chest as she tried to hide herself from the stern-faced woman and the two  armoured men walking towards her. She had begged and pleaded and promised she would never do it again, even though she didn’t really understand what she had done that was so bad. She didn’t understand why she had to go away, why people avoided her and her own mother could barely look at her. She remembered the day it all changed, but nothing made any more sense than it had then.

_________________________________

The horse had kicked her father as he was shoeing it. Usually when that  happened he was out of breath but fine after a minute or two. This time he hadn’t been able to get up, there had been a scary bubbling sound every time he breathed and his chest looked funny. The adults ran about, shouting, one of them put a pillow under his head as another ran to get her mother. That frightened her, no one ran for her mother unless it was serious, like the time Caro fell out of the tree and broke his arm, or when they had been playing at pirates and she had fallen into the lake, getting tangled in the weeds and swallowed  lungfuls of the murky, muddy water. 

She had run over to her father, screaming for him to get up, terrified by his grey colour and bubbling, watery breaths. Then everything changed. She had felt as if the world slowed down around her. Her eyes seemed to see patterns she had never seen before, slabs of red fibres like the ham  hough she picked at after her mother made soup, wires that looked different shades of red, some pulsing, some moving in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She saw yellowish sticks, two of which were in sharp pieces, the ends disappearing into a dark bag the  colour of uncooked liver. Red fluid pooled up around them, sliding along them into the holes they made in the bag. Part of Mia understood that  somehow she was seeing inside her father, seeing what the problem was; and because she could see the problem, she could see how to fix it. Her body tingled with energy, she felt as if she was standing outside in a thunderstorm, but the lightning with under her skin. She told it where to go, watched it push the blood back out of the bag that was Papa’s lung, moving the shards and ends gently back to where instinct told her they should go, wrapping her lightning around them to push the tiny bits back together, sealing every shard back into the sticks, the ribs. As she did, his chest moved back to the shape it should be, his breathing easing. He groaned with the pain and she followed the pulses in the nerves, soothing them, easing the inflammation and swelling. Finally, once everything seemed back to normal, she withdrew, closing off that other sight, letting the lightning empty out of her, back to wherever it had come from. She looked up to see Papa looking at her and  realised everyone was looking at her. She was so tired but she smiled, Mama would be so pleased she helped Papa.

Mama had stood in the doorway, frozen, watching Mia the way she watched a rat in the kitchen, half scared, half disgusted. Mia didn’t understand why Mama looked at her that way. Why wasn’t she pleased that Papa was ok? She looked around, everyone was staring at her, no one looked happy, no one spoke to her. She didn’t understand. Finally, she looked at her Papa, he didn’t look happy, he just looked sad. Tears rolled down his cheek as he said, “Oh, darling.” He held out his arms to her and she collapsed into them, sobbing, hurt and confused at how something so good could have gone so wrong.

__________________________________

Now she watched as the three strangers walked up to The Lady. They bowed briefly and The Lady inclined her head towards them, murmuring greetings that Mia was sure weren’t meant. The Lady hadn’t liked Mia since she had nipped her with a pin while helping Mama fit a new dress, but even more so, she hated Caro, even though he had never done anything to her. Mia couldn’t understand why and even when she heard her parents whispering at night, the things they said never made sense. Caro was theirs, sometimes The Lord came and said hello, but that was all, and he said hello to Mia too. She didn’t know why The Lady didn’t like that but she knew The Lord said hello less often since she had come and that made her sad, because it made Caro sad. And now she was leaving, and Caro would be left behind. Their brothers were too old to tolerate an  8 year old tagging along , so who would he play with? Sometimes she thought if she weren’t  there he would never leave the stables and the kennels, helping with the horses and playing with the hounds and never speaking to another person. Would anyone remind him to come home for dinner, to speak to other people, to go to his lessons, if she weren’t there to look after him? And who would hold on to her at night when she woke from the nightmares, when voices whispered to her and offered her things she didn’t understand, when the whole world felt crackly and not quite real? 

She started screaming again when one of the faceless,  armoured men pulled her from Caro’s arms. She screamed for him as he tried to reach her, as Papa held him back, holding onto him the way she had. She screamed for her mother, but Mama turned away, leading her brothers back into the  servants quarter. She kept screaming as the Templar hauled her onto the horse in front of the  hard faced woman who held her, who stroked her hair and told her it would be all right. She only stopped when the woman brushed a hand over her forehead and whispered a word, gently pushing her into a deep sleep that lasted until they entered the tower.


	2. The Infirmary

Annis startled awake, still hearing the hooves of the horses and feeling Wynne’s gentle hand on her forehead. Shaking away the remnants of the dream she sat up, ducking her head to avoid the top bunk and shivering as her feet touched the stone floor. The tower was never really warm and in the apprentice dorms the fires were always lit in the huge hearths but never seemed to make a difference. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and slipped her feet into soft slippers before heading to the latrines and nearby bathing room.

In the baths she joined the other apprentices in getting ready as quickly as possible. There was plenty of time for leisurely baths on rest days but being late for classes was not tolerated. By the time she got back to the dorm she had only enough time to run her comb through her long red hair before grabbing her bag and running to the infirmary. She arrived just in time to join the line of apprentices and mages who were on duty that morning, panting slightly and twisting her hair up into a knot out of her way. She noticed one of the mages, a tall blond man whose name she could never remember, staring at her feet. She looked down and groaned when she saw the soft doeskin slippers instead of leather boots and looked back up quickly as he laughed.

“First day, is it?” She nodded, sure her face was the  colour of her hair and wishing she could sink into the floor. He whispered, conspiratorially, “My first day, I grabbed robes that were too small and tripped as I ran in. Ripped the seams and ended up sitting in my smalls in front of Senior Mage Wynne.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the image of the calm and collected Wynne standing as the blond man sprawled almost naked before her. He grinned back and she wanted to ask what happened next, but a sudden bustle at the end of the room announced the senior healer mages had arrived. She straightened, determined to impress today. For 5 years she had worked every day, learning everything she could about anatomy and physiology of the various races, herbalism, even poisons because many of the herbs used for one could be used for the other. Even for those with a talent for healing, none of the younger apprentices were allowed to help in the infirmary, and she had had to wait until her 13 th birthday to stand in that line, waiting to be assigned duties.

Traditionally, all studies were excused on your birthday. It was a day for relaxing, walking in the gardens or lazing in the library with a book. Visits from family members were allowed, if any of them would visit a mage relative, none of hers ever did. For the first two years she had only received letters from Caro, and those had abruptly stopped three years ago. She never heard from her parents at all. When she had begged Wynne to let her do her first shift today instead of waiting for tomorrow the older woman had tried to talk her into having a restful day, even offered to get Meera and Jowan excused their classes to keep her company, but  Annis had dreamed of working in the infirmary since the first time she had walked in and seen the possibilities of her powers.

She spent the day running to and fro, carrying poultices and potions and bandages from the store cupboard, taking used cloths and instruments to the boiling room. Everything was calm, controlled and orderly, until an hour before the evening bell, the end of her shift, when a templar came running in, carrying one of the apprentices, an elf named Alim, with two other mages hurrying behind, yelling about fireballs and shields. The templar laid him on the nearest bed and she gasped – the left side of his face and body were burned through to the bone, only scraps of blackened skin and muscle remaining. Wynne herself came straight over, weaving mana around him to stabilise him while calling calmly and clearly for the equipment she needed, easily heard in a room which had fallen silent as healer and templar alike waited to see if the young man could be healed.

While others ran for herbs and poultices,  Annis quickly went to the water barrels. She dumped the armload of linen sheets she was carrying into one of the barrels and froze the water solid.  Next she directed just enough heat into the ice to melt it, keeping it cool enough to soothe and lifted the soaking sheets out. Building a barrier under them to catch the drips, she ran back to Wynne who smiled at her gratefully and started placing them around Alim and over his burns.  Annis knew that some of the energy for healing had to come from the patient’s own strength, the more serious the complaint, the more energy was needed, and right now the elf had no reserves left. She concentrated on keeping the linen cool against what remained of his skin, running to the barrels when they dried, keeping them moist in the hopes they wouldn’t stick to the burns. Wynne avoided the burns completely, trusting to Annis to keep them cool and damp. Instead she directed her energies to Alim’s failing heart, countering the shock and easing the pain while the blond mage, Anders, poured potions, water and beef broth into him, sometimes only drops at a time.  Annis knew that shock and fluid loss would kill fast, that pain would only hasten that, and that the man’s life hung in the balance, no matter what the skills of his helpers.

Darkness had fallen hours before Wynne declared him strong enough for healing. Both  Annis and Anders had refused to leave their patient, hurriedly sipping water or forcing down one of the  savoury pastries the kitchen sent up before going back to their duties. No one dared ask Wynne if she wanted to leave, even a quiet offer of food or water earned a glare for disturbing her concentration until she was sure Alim would be well. Then she had the three of them rest in her office, eating a hot meal sent up from the kitchens with spiced, honeyed warm milk. They talked quietly, Wynne commending them both for the devotion, adding the oddly sharp comment that Anders would be welcome and helpful if he was available to the healers more often, which made the man blush uncomfortably.  Annis just stared blankly at them both, numb with hours of wetting and cooling linen, with the reality of Alim’s suffering, with waiting to know if the man would live or die. She knew him well, he was a close friend of Jowan’s and they had spent hours studying together, chatting about how different their lives had been before the Circle, and his anguish was as real as her fathers had been that day. Only now did she  realise that she had never seen death but that day and this it had almost come for someone she loved and tears poured down her cheeks as she imagined the life leaving their bodies. Magic was a curse, the Chantry said so at every opportunity, and mages were a danger. But magic had saved her father and her friend and she couldn’t hate it or herself as the priests told her she should.

She barely felt it when Anders lifted her into his arms and carried her out of Wynne’s office, through the infirmary and the draughty corridors before laying her gently on her bunk and kissing her forehead as she fell into an exhausted sleep.


	3. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Circle isn't all bad. There is free time, even feast days. No one can study all the time and even the templars need to let their hair down occasionally. But there would still always be that sense of being watched, of never being able to relax completely and letting your guard down can't be taken lightly.

The girl in the mirror barely looked like her, soot on her eyelashes and berry tint on her lips made her look older than her 15 years as Meera twisted and braided her hair into an intricate style that was miles away from her usual bun. She blushed, imagining Marcus smudging the tint with his kisses, her lips becoming red with arousal rather than makeup and she couldn’t help running her tongue across her lips, remembering the taste of him and the feel of his mouth on hers. 

A tug on her hair brought her back from her daydreams and she raised her eyebrows at Meera’s reflection, grinning at her in the mirror. “None of that, Ani,” she laughed, tugging the hair wrapped in her hand, “I can hear those thoughts from here, you’ll make me jealous.” She paused thoughtfully and pulled a little harder as she secured the last braid into place. “Maybe we can persuade Marcus to share.” 

Annis spun in the chair, grabbing Meera round the waist and pulling her onto her lap. Careful of the other girls hair and makeup, she nuzzled into her neck, licking and nibbling up to her ear before whispering, “And what exactly did you have in mind?” Meera’s eyes narrowed and she twisted round to catch Annis in a deep kiss, sucking on her lower lip, tongue flicking across the seam, demanding entry while one hand slid up to cup a breast, palm kneading and fingers swirling around a nipple that felt suddenly firm through the light dress robes. Annis relaxed into the kiss, opening her mouth and sucking lightly on Meera’s tongue as she trailed her hand up the soft, long leg, slipping the skirts aside to slip a delicate finger under the edge of her smallclothes, spreading the growing pool of silky moisture between her lips and up to circle the bundle of nerves, circling but not quite touching, as Meera shifted, trying to direct Annis to where she wanted her. 

“Ah-ah,” Annis drew back form the kiss and moved her hand back outside the soaking smalls. “We have a party to go to.” Meera grimaced and pulled Annis’ nipple sharply before jumping off her knee and settling her robes back into place. 

“You’re a bitch and a tease, Annis Amell.” She turned to the mirror and checked her hair and clothes, pouting as she gave an unsatisfied wriggle. Annis leaned against her back and wrapped her arms round her waist. Meera wasn’t tall but Annis laid her cheek between her shoulder blades. 

“I’m sorry, querida. I promise we’ll play later. We’ll lie in my bunk and talk about all the things we could do with Marcus. But Satinalia is the only time we have parties and the templars aren’t glaring at everyone. I don’t want to miss a minute of it, dancing, food, music, sweets. Please don’t be mad at me, sweetness.” She pressed a kiss to the other girls spine, feeling the tension ease as Meera relaxes into the kiss. She knows she’s won, she always wins sooner or later. She dabs on some more tint before linking arms with Meera, who still has a delicious pout on her full lips, and dragging her off to the Great Hall. 

___________________________ 

She barely hears the midnight bell, it’s drowned out by the music in the great hall, the voices chattering, giggling, sometimes singing along with well-loved songs. She’s lost track of her dancing partners, keeping the slowest dances for Marcus and watching Meera flit from one dance partner to another, even some of the younger templars joining in for the one festival where boundaries relaxed, even in the Circle. Armoured warriors still stood around the room, watching closely, hands on swords. Along the edges of the room older mages watched the younger ones dance, gathering mostly into groups of fraternities. But for one night a year it felt as close to freedom as Annis had ever known and she wouldn’t miss it for anything. 

Tiny ice crystals float in the air above the dancers, reflecting the flickering firelight and breaking it into shimmering rainbows while cooling the air in the overheated hall. She leans into Marcus, enjoying the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, moving gently to the music and feeling like there’s no one in the world but the two of them. She doesn’t love him, not the way she loves Meera and Jowan, who has been conspicuously absent tonight. Not even with the adoring crush she had on Anders that first year in the infirmary, before she humiliated herself by making a pass at him that he gently turned down. He had escaped again not long after and even when he returned, they had lost the easy rapport of teacher and student due to her stupidity. He wasn’t here either, the last attempt meant he was stuck in one of the solitary cells and she hadn’t managed to wheedle any of the templars into taking him a gift this time. 

No, she doesn’t love Marcus, but he is lovely to look at, he makes her laugh and she enjoys his company. Romance doesn’t belong in the Circle and she isn’t a silly girl to be star struck by a smile. She’s seen what happens to people who fall in love, one of them is always sent away, there is no happy ever after here so she takes what happiness she can find and doesn’t worry about the rest. So she dances, enjoying the moment, leaning into the hard male body, thinking about nothing but sneaking away after this dance to do some horizontal dancing instead. 

They make it to one of the study alcoves in the library. No one ever comes this far in, to the dustiest books and the darkest corners, at least not for reading. Deep, bruising kisses and hands slipping inside robes, finding catches and buttons. Marcus wins this round, exposing firm breasts that look bigger above a tiny waist. The penalty is lying passively while he sucks and nips, any movement or noise means another forfeit. He unwraps her skirts and kneels between her legs, unable to restrain a breathy sigh that caused her to instantly clamp her knees together, holding back a giggle. They take it in turns, each tempting the other with touches and kisses, every noise a forfeit to prolong the game but also a reminder that there are templars on duty, standing in the darkened room, waiting for any misstep. Eventually they can’t take it any longer and Marcus pushes into her, thrusting hard and fast until they both come, her biting her lips to stay quiet while he muffles his cries against her shoulder. 

They lean against each other, half lying on a table, enjoying the warmth of each others company. As the world comes back into focus they stir, slowly redressing, stopping for a quick kiss or caress. He walks her back towards the apprentice quarters, leaving her at the door to return to his small room on the floor above. He shares with two other mages, neither of whom he trusts to keep silent, and a dorm of 20 apprentices is even less safe so she slips into the room on her own, noting Meera’s empty bunk but too tired to think about it. They can snuggle and talk about their fantasies tomorrow, once everyone has had some sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annis is an Amell, but not of the Kirkwall Amells, just a far flung cousin with a mostly Fereldan father and an Antivan mother.


	4. Nightmares

It felt like an itch under her skin as she watched Annis and Marcus glide around the dance floor. She loved Annis but she was so good at riling her up and then just walking away. That’s why Jowan avoids her now too, everything is on the surface, open and plain as day, but there’s nothing beneath, like a portrait of a beautiful woman painted by a great artist you can see the life, the movement in every brush stroke, but when you touch it there’s only cold hardwood with the faint texture of paint, nothing else. 

She remembered the night Annis came to the tower, a bedraggled, heart-broken child, sobbing for her family and especially her brother, Caro. To begin with, she refused to speak to any of the mages in Fereldan, using only the Antivan her mother had taught her. What began as rebellion turned into a game as she taught a few of her friends a language just for them. Missing her family faded as months passed and only her brother wrote at all and she became a bright, happy child, entrancing Meera with her energy and mischief. They had been inseparable, other friends coming and going, only Jowan stayed consistently beside them. The three of them had grown together, laughed and played, sharing everything so no one was surprised when their friendship became romance, the three of them exploring their bodies together, sharing everything. 

The past year that had changed. Annis spent more and more time in the infirmary, seeing things they had dismissed as rumours, mages hurt by errant spells and the daily accidents that occur anywhere, but also those ‘disciplined’ by some of the harsher templars, the small number of mages, servants, even some templars assaulted. The worst were the suicides, men and women who saw only one escape from the Circle, and there were far too many of those. With every shift Annis withdrew a bit more. Meera closed her eyes, pushing away the sharp pain in her heart. The truth was that Jowan had started to distance himself before Annis and she hadn’t really cared, worrying about them both was just an excuse to hide the fact that as Annis stepped back, Meera wanted to step forward; that Jowan was a friend and lover but Annis was the centre of her world. But seeing the shallow, cruel person Annis was becoming, cold and neglectful to anyone outside the infirmary as if all her kindness belonged only to her patients, that was not the person Meera loved. So she opened her eyes and looked away from her, determined to walk away before Annis turned that love into hate. 

She danced for hours, she loved dancing, and barely noticed that Annis never came near. Mages, servants and even templars danced together this one night of the year when order yielded to chaos throughout Thedas. Several new knights had joined them recently and she danced with all but one. Even tonight, keeping on the templars good side was important, simple enjoyment always tempered by survival. She thought the one who wouldn’t dance might be a problem until she realised his bright red complexion was an embarrassed blush, not heat or annoyance. So she stopped teasing him and danced with Ser Drass, flirting lightly with the sad eyed knight who was always so kind.

By midnight she was exhausted, it had been a wonderful evening but it was definitely time for bed. She noticed Annis slipping away with Marcus in tow and smiled to herself before leaving the hall and heading back to the dormitory. There would be no quiet cuddling tonight, just sleep for them both, after such an evening. Humming gently to the music she could still hear in the distance, she noticed the torches had blown out in the corridor outside the dormitory and summoned a small ball of magelight, just enough to see her to her bed. Suddenly, from an alcove, came a deep laugh and she jumped as shadows moved and she was hit by several holy smites and everything went black.


	5. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - self harm, referenced rape

Annis woke long before dawn, still shattered by the  evenings activities, but she  was  due in the infirmary at 5am. A quick glance towards Meera’s bunk show ed she still  wa sn’t there. She needs to be back before dawn if she wants to escape the notice of the templars. Quickly washing and dressing she thr ew one last glance at the empty bed before shaking her head and padding softly to the door. Meera is many things but stupid isn’t one of them, she’ll be back in time. She might even meet her on the way and try to get the name of her lover from her. But she sees no one on the way and once she gets to the  infirmary she’s kept busy with hangovers, upset stomachs and other things that can be cured with herbs rather than magic. Gossip will have to wait till later.

She’s surprised to see Jowan walk into the room, looking about for her and striding over when he catches her eye. Tall and handsome, he has an easy manner and a sweet, serious demeanour. Like Meera, his hair is dark brown , almost black , but that’s where the resemblance ends. Where she is willowy, he is broad, her caramel skin and chocolate eyes contrast with his paler skin and hazel eyes.  Annis loves to watch them wrapped round each other but that happens less and less. Jowan has been drawing away from them for a while, she didn’t even see him at the party last night. When he gets close  enough she looks up at him and drawls,

“Hi stranger, long time no see.” He fidgets a  bit ; he’s never been sure how to take her strange sarcastic  humour but now he looks almost embarrassed. Suddenly concerned for her friend,  Annis put her hand on his arm. “Jowan, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I... I’m sorry to disturb you...It’s just...” he trails off in that way he does, slightly anxious, slightly awkward. She leads him to a quiet corner and asks, “ Jowan , please tell me. We hardly see you these days and now you’re slinking in here and...” She stops then starts again hesitantly, “Have I done something, offended you  or..? ” He shakes his head quickly, smiling that shy smile.

“You haven’t done anything, lovely.” He fidgets again, smile dropping as his tone turns serious. “I’ve, well, I’ve met someone. A girl. I can’t tell you much but I’ve been spending a lot of time with her.” She looks at his flushed cheeks and the way he won’t quite meet her eyes and sighs.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love,  Jowan . You know...”

“I know it’s a stupid, doomed, pointless idea. We’re just, taking our time, enjoying ourselves, no strings attached.” 

But  Annis knows he’s lying. He’s always been a romantic dreamer, never thinking about consequences, falling in love at least twice a year as long as she’s known him. Although he’s  two years older, she feels like his older sister, keeping an eye out for him, trying to stop him falling headlong into disaster over the next pretty girl. But she also knows that reasoning won’t work. They’ve had enough arguments about how “cold and hard hearted” she is for rejecting any idea of romance. There’s only one reason he would have come to find her anyway so she goes to the cupboard where the moon tonic is kept and removes a few flasks. The contraceptive is freely available to anyone, mage or templar, but some people are always too embarrassed to come themselves. Most of them know to approach her or one of the other apprentices, a pregnancy is not something anyone wants here, and although the tonic isn’t infallible there haven’t been any slips in the time  Annis has worked in the infirmary. She hands him the flasks, warns him to be careful, then turns away. There’s a list of potions and poultices needing restocked, hiding in the stillroom will keep her out of the way for a while.

Brewing potion is restful and the stillroom is calm and quiet, the air filled with the aroma of dried herbs and disinfectant. She loves to be in at the sharp end, using her healing powers with the worst injuries and sicknesses, but sometimes it’s nice to worry about nothing more earth-shaking than measuring ingredients correctly and whether to boil or simmer. As she waits for a batch of  elfroot potion to cool enough to bottle she practices the new skill she has been experimenting with. Her control of primal magic being almost as strong as spirit magic, she had refined it to use in her healing in a way that cost her less mana and required less from the patient.

She slid the silver knife along the inside of her arm, watching ruby drops swelling as the tip travelled across her skin, feeling a detached euphoria as she lifted her arm and licked the blood before it dripped to the floor and the pure, clean pain of the sharp knife soothed the edges of the ache she rarely noticed now. Opening herself to the Fade, she drew the finest line of lightning along the edges, sealing the broken blood vessels. Ice to cool the wound and reduce inflammation. Fire was harder to control and she hadn’t found a good use for earth yet but lightning and ice were useful in several different ways. So far only she had the control required to use them  with such  precision . Wynne was not far behind but it was such a different use of the power they were reluctant to involve anyone else in the experiment, especially after a couple of lapses in concentration had caused serious lightning burns.

The magic used to completely heal the skin now was negligible,  Annis focused lightly and her arm was once again unblemished.  Again she used the knife, this time on the inside of her thigh, cutting deeper, watching for each individual vessel which she touched with a hint of lightning. She had devised this skill exactly for this, the sharpness and precision of the cut easing the blurred, dark depths of her. Even sex didn’t feel as pure, as controlled as this, bright silver pain cleansing her. She cut again, closing her eyes to savour the feeling and leaning her head back against the chair, before drawing her finger along it, sealing it with a surge of power. She leaned forward, placing the edge of the knife higher, when a hand grabbed hers, pulled the knife from it and threw it across the room. 

Startled, she looked up. She hadn’t heard the door open, oblivious to the steps of the man who stared at her in rage, his grasp crushing her wrist until she could feel bone shifting. He was gaunt, his eyes deep shadows with no hint of humour in them, none of the easy affection they had once had, everything but anger and pain burnt out of him by a year in darkness. When she tried to protest, tried to pull her wrist from his bruising grip, tried to explain that she was practising, that it was ok, that nothing was happening, he yanked her out of the chair and pushed her towards the door.

“You’re needed,” is all he says, before pushing past her and leaving the room. She rearranged the skirts of her robe, casting a glance around the room to make sure nothing was likely to catch fire or explode, then gathered her dignity and walked into the main room. It was silent. Not the quiet at the end of the day, when everything settled a bit and there was finally time to breathe. This was absence, as if the whole world had stopped breathing, while everyone looked to the closed door of the Willow Room, the room that held only the worst hurt, the truly sick and the dying. He stood at the door, arms folded, his face a blank mask as he waited, and as she  approached he opened the door and motioned her inside.

She couldn’t take it in. Wynne was there, and several other healers, it didn’t look like they needed her help. There was no chaos, no confusion, no order to run for ingredients, bandages or potions. She blinked in confusion, unsure why she was here, until her brain finally told her what her eyes were seeing.

The body in the bed was covered in bruises and cut marks, slices across breasts and belly while blood stained the inside thigh. Wounds  overlapped, blood dried under more blood. She looked at the face but swollen, blackened eyes, the nose misshapen, lips split gave no clue to identity. But she knew. She knew the silky brown hair, matted black with blood, the caramel skin that tasted of jasmine and lily, now bruised and slashed. She never felt it as her knees hit the stone floor, never heard the wail that ripped her throat, leaving the taste of blood in her mouth, never felt strong hands catch her as the world went black. 


	6. Harrowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - suicide

“One last time, love, just once more, breathe with me, one more time, just let go.” 

There was silence, then a tiny cry, lungs filling for the first time, protesting the cold, bright new world.

“Please, let me hold her, please, just once, I promise, then you can have her, please, just let me see her.” 

No answer. The sound of a door closing as the child’s crying faded into the distance. The gentle bustle of clearing blood stained sheets, cool cloth on her forehead and voices whispering, “It’s ok, it’s ok,”

Annis woke with tears streaming down her cheeks. Images of Meera sobbing in her arms as her child was taken away. She had begged her to take the potion, before it was too late, before the  rapists seed took hold in her battered body. She had blamed her bitterly as her body swelled and she spent equal time gently caressing the stomach, feeling the movement within, and crying with the pain of still healing wounds. She blamed weakness and then saw strength as her love determined to bring something real and good from her violation, even though the world would take it away from her. She had never been allowed to see the beautiful dark-haired girl that Annis helped her birth and then handed to a templar to take away, feeling the betrayal in her bones, knowing she would never forgive herself for handing a child to the chantry while  it’s mother cried for one glance.

She had tried to do her duty, to do what was needed, even when she didn’t know what that really was. It made no difference, three days later Meera walked out of the infirmary and out of the tower, using her powers to crumble a side gate into rusted, twisted ruins. She walked into the lake and was found, hours later, washed up against the small jetty. This time, when she was brought into the infirmary, she looked almost perfect, skin and hair damp as if she had just come from the baths, not a bruise or cut marring her beauty, but this time there was no life left in her, no healing that could work a miracle and bring her back. This time  Annis didn’t wail, or faint. She sat and held her loves hand in empty silence, stroking the tangled hair. She washed her body and brushed her hair, singing an  Antivan lullaby as she wound fine linen around and around. She followed the stretcher that bore her love to the pyre, and watched the smoke and flames reach up to the empty heavens. Then she went to the infirmary and left her notice of resignation on Wynne’s desk. She never noticed the eyes that followed her, that had followed her since  Satinalia , or that she was never alone, an armoured figure ensuring there would not be a repeat of the last year. Instead, she lay down on her bunk, staring at the ceiling, until she dreamed about her darling calling her name across the fade.

She hadn’t set foot in the infirmary in the three months since Meera’s death. She avoided Wynne and Anders, they must think her weak and pathetic, she burned any letters that came to her in their writing. She wasn’t surprised when she heard Anders had run away again, and then Wynne had gone to  Ostagar yesterday, one final attempt to see her repulsed as  Annis hid until the woman left the library where she had sought her out. The only person she spoke to now was Jowan, plastering a smile to her face and teasing him about his mystery woman, pretending to be engrossed in their studies as he complained about still waiting for his Harrowing, and she pretended to care if hers ever came.

She was dozing off again when a gauntleted hand touched her shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked into the face of the Knight-Commander.

“ Annis Amell, you are called.”


End file.
